Gimme Shelter
by SheyRicci
Summary: Sam stopped by Maggie's, intending to drop Dean off for a day or so and be on his way. But he ended up spending the night, and between his aching back, headache and too small bed, he didn't sleep well.
1. Chapter 1

Maggie sat on her sofa, feet propped up on her new, antique coffee table, admiring the pretty cobalt blue slippers on her feet. She turned her foot one way, then the other, sipped her lemon-laced hot tea and twisted the opposite foot about. She patted the new foam, twistable curlers in her hair, but nope, they were not sliding or loose. She gave her head a shake. Right and tight they were. Oh those girls of Jody's were the sweetest things. Good for Jody, Bless her, taking in those poor, orphans.

So, what on TV was worth watching? Weren't remote controls the best invention ever? Oh, the Food Network…..the red-haired lady from the ranch who was always smiling. Maybe she could get some different ideas for sweet-treats since the church bake sale was Sunday, which reminded her: Fall weather had come late to town, and boy, was she ever thankful the freak storm over the great lake hadn't affected her little town…..where was she? Oh right, so while warmer than normal, the weather still required a thick sweater, so….where had she put that pretty red cardigan? Wasn't at the cleaners, was it? No, no. She'd picked her dry-cleaning up when she'd been out running errands; she'd refilled her prescriptions, replenished her supply of lavender oils, visited the post office and yes, the dry cleaners. So, must be hanging on the back of the spare bedroom door. Yup, she'd wear that on Sunday.

So, what to make? Myrtle was making pumpkin cupcakes, pumpkin pie, pumpkin cookies…you name it; if you could put pumpkin in it, Myrtle was making it. Good ole Myrtle…

Maggie chuckled, reaching for her favorite short bread cookie from the bowl on her lap…should she dunk? Not yet…..munch, crunch, now, where was she? Oh, yes, the bake sale. She supposed she could make toasted coconut cookies…maybe some apple tarts. She did like a good apple tart. Oh, maybe some banana bread and zucchini bread. She had quite a bit of squash….mmmmmm, what could she make with squash?

She waggled her toes. Oh yes indeed, these really were nice slippers! She'd never had this style before. Machine washable and all…ooh…ooh….the idea lightbulb went off and she brightened…brownies with a caramel and coconut topping! She huffed, her recipe called for nuts though. Everyone these days all of a sudden had nut allergies. Now, she wished no illness or harm on anyone, but really, if one person – or two – happened to suffer from allergies to nuts – or any food – wasn't it their responsibility not to purchase and consume unknown home-made food products? This – oh-but-we-have-to-be-responsible-for-others-and-if-one-person-may-or-may-not-be-allergic-we-all-have-to-go-without – nonsense was not of her decade! Oh, wait…..she could get Myrtle's visiting granddaughter to print those cute little adhesive labels that said, 'warning: contains nuts'. But, someone, somewhere, would frown and scold and make a huge issue of it. Just like when she sent her grandchilren to day camp with PBJ sandwiches, and gasp! – horror of all horrors – a cookie!

Mmmm. Yes, the brownies indeed it would be! She'd have to go to the store though. She'd used all her cocoa making hot chocolate for the girls…..

 _purrpurrpurrpurr_

Eh, what the hell, dunk her cookie she would! And dunk it she did. And the next one.

 _vroomvroomvroom!_

She turned the TV up. Perhaps another cup of hot tea.

 _rumblerumblerumble_

She brushed crumbs from her bosom. Good Lord! What was that racket? Why, if she had to get up of the sofa and charge out the front door, someone was going to have a pretty blue slipper flung right at their head!

 _Beepbeepbeep! SCREECH!_

Those senseless kids racing up and down the street all hours of the day, spinning tires, making those hideous black marks on the street made her blood boil. No respect, no common courtesy. Go idle that car in someone else's driveway. She was just going to have to waddle herself outside in her new slippers, curlers and all, wave her mug and tell that rude, clueless redneck punk he had the wrong house! Rude dude, indeed!

 _honkhonkhonkhonk_

Wait, her driveway? Yes! It was a car! And it _was_ in _her_ driveway! That couldn't be. No one would be visiting her ….none of her boys or grandchildren were due to stop by and Jody and the girls had just left. Besides, their car didn't make that much racket. She snorted. In all her life – and mind you, her sons had had those muscle cars in the 70's and she and her husband had owned a jalopy when first married – she had never heard a car make such a racket when just idling. Well, except one…..

She choked. She gagged. She sputtered. She spewed tea. The cookie went flying…landed somewhere.

Nonononononononono oh, nonononononononono. No. No. No.

She jumped to her feet. A slipper was lost in the process. The bowl of cookies hit the floor. She didn't recall what she did with her mug, forgot she'd ever had a cookie in her hand and stubbed her toe on her coffee table, but nonetheless, she barreled out her front door in her bathrobe, curlers bouncing in her hair, with one slipper.

"Shut that darn thing off!" she groused. "Must you make it make so much noise? I have neighbors you know!"

"Hi Maggie." Sam greeted. "Nice weather for this time of year."

She stepped around him, looked up and down the street, left then right, saw Dean getting out of the car and cast an eye at her rosebush hedge. She placed her hands on her hips and met Sam's gaze. "Well? What brings you here this time?" when he didn't answer immediately, she threw her hands up. "Oh for Pete's sake, inside with you! You!" she warned an approaching Dean. "Stay away from my roses. You fall in them this time, I will leave you there."

She grabbed a jacket, swatted an arm, pushed, pulled, and shoved. Someone was smacked upside the back of the head, and an ear was tweaked, but they were both inside and the door was closed behind them.

"To what do I owe this visit?" she huffed, pulling her robe tight and belting it off. "You just show up. Never call. Never send a postcard."

 _Postcard? Dean mouthed in disbelief to Sam.  
Shut up! Sam glared back.  
She never heard of text or email? Dean raises both eyebrows, waggled one, at Sam.  
She's like 80! Sam glared back._

"There'll be none of that." Maggie chided irritably. "Don't you dare go near that coffee table!" she ordered Dean without looking. "Sit over there. No damage you can do to that chair."

"Uh, none of what?" Sam asked innocently. "Dean, hey…"

"That silent talking between the two of you."

"What? We…" Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I need a favor." he changed the subject. Go away headache.

"Of course you do." Maggie said sarcastically. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

Sam blinked. Dean smirked from the armchair rocker he had sprawled out in but didn't offer any opinion.

"I've done enough favors for the two of you." Maggie continued. "And what did I get in return? My visit with Jody ruined. My perfectly sewn stitches ripped out, the loss of my beautiful antique coffee table, my rosebushes destroyed, Myrtle making herself comfy-cozy in my home." she rolled her eyes, tapping her finger against her lips. "Mmm…there's more. There's something else, what is it? What. Is. It? Oh, yes, that's right! A gun was held to my head." she pointed at her head as if it were a question as to whose head she was talking about. "This head. This one right here. Not once, but twice!" she swiveled around and pointed at Dean. "By him!" she swung back to face Sam, two fingers held in the air and waggling. "TWO times, mind you! TWICE. Anything else? Oh. Right." she smacked her forehead. "Can't forget the introduction to illegal narcotics. Oh, and shot at. Chased by police." she shuddered. "Fleas. Bugs. Insects with six legs. Antenna!"

"Yes, I know all that." he wanted to ask how she knew the insect had six legs and antenna but thought that wouldn't be a wise idea. "Sorry, but I….well, that was only, what one time? No, two….."

"Three." she corrected. "I picked it up." she sniffed at the recalled memory of horror.

"Um, picked what up?" Sam asked stupidly. Really, he needed to pay attention or his ears were likely in for a smart boxing.

"The _bug_!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"It meant you no harm…" Sam began to explain then snapped his jaw closed. Ooh, not a nice look on her face. "See Dean, he….he's…..aah….."

"You should have seen that bathtub." her jaw didn't move. "The grime."

He had seen it. Literally. And many others like it. Would again. That was life. His life. Their life.

Taking a deep breath, Sam pointed to Dean who remained slouched in the chair Maggie had told him to sit in. "He doesn't get…"

"And that little punk at the desk!" she huffed. "What an attitude!? All I asked him for was housekeeping."

"I…ah….have a….um…doctor's appointment." Sam explained. "He ….Dean…well, we…"

"And that maid…..!" she hunched her shoulder and shuddered. "Spoke not one known language." she paused. "Actually, she was pleasant and helpful. Very eager."

"I'd take him with me but…"

"Oh, cut the crap." Maggie said abruptly, hand slapping the closed door. "We have perfectly good doctors right here in town. I can get you an appointment with mine." she threw her hands up – whether in defeat or disgust – Sam couldn't guess. "What did he break, tear, hurt, injure this time?" she turned to nail Dean to the chair with her best mom stare. "Well? What is it? Let me see." her hand went up. "On second thought, don't." she shook her head. "No….be it broken bones or cuts requiring stitches or grade ten concussions….."

"No such thing." Dean offered, eyes closed. He didn't say anything more, but did pull his right arm across his lap.

"Ah-Ha!" Maggie pounced. "I knew it!" she turned and stalked to the chair. "Showed up here last time with broken ribs, did you not? Ended up in the hospital too, didn't you?" she leaned over him, nose to nose. "So, your arm. Broken?"

"His arm is okay." Sam attempted to recall her attention. "I've tended it and it's wrapped, I just need to leave him with someone for a few days." then realized Maggie wasn't paying him any attention and sighed.

"Why me?" Maggie muttered, but it wasn't an answer to Sam's announcement. She was lost in her own thoughts. Since Dean had protested her hovering, she commenced poking him here and there with a bony finger in a not-so-gentle attempt to locate any injury. She avoided his arm and though Dean winced at a time or two, no poke elicited the reaction Maggie was looking for. "Wait, huh? What? Say who? You want to do what? Here? Leave him here? Why? Oh, no." she straightened up and stomped back to Sam who remained just inside the door. "No."

"'Cause I can't leave him alone." well, I _could_ , I don't _want_ to.

"Why not?" she pivoted and stomped back to Dean where she proceeded to poke his right arm numerous times in several locations until she finally got the reaction she'd been expecting; a wince and hiss and suck in of breath followed by a muttered curse and boyish ow. "AH-HA!" she crowed triumphantly. "And you said he wasn't hurt!"

Sam looked perplexed. "I….aah…..never said that." he frowned. "Did I? Don't think I did."

Maggie pursed her lips and cocked her head, looking up at the ceiling as she tapped her finger against her lips. "Is that the same arm?" she mused to herself. "Why can't I remember? Drat my memory."

"Anyway, Maggie, I…."

"Of course, I beg to remind you, I was under extreme emotional distress." she glared at Sam. "Shock too. I think I even had a stroke."

"What?" Sam asked stupidly. He was not, _at all,_ following her rambling. "When did you have a stroke?"

"She's trying to remember if it's the same arm she stitched up." Dean supplied. "It's not."

"I'll be back tomorrow." Sam said somewhat desperately. He hadn't been prepared for Maggie to go on defense.

She stomped back to Sam, grabbed a fist-full of jacket and yanked him down to her eye level. "What do you expect me to do with him?" she asked impatiently. "Five minutes ago, I had two slippers." she muttered to herself. "Where did it go? And when? Why me?"

Sam cast a helpless look at Dean. His brother had more experience dealing with cantankerous elderly ladies than he did….Maggie in particular, but Dean didn't even open his eyes even though Sam knew, Dean knew, Sam was looking at him for help.

"Gimme shelter." Dean drawled, smirking at some joke or reference only he got.

"Shut up!" barked both Sam and Maggie.

"Why can't you take him with you, wherever you're going?" Maggie demanded, releasing her hold on his jacket, hand waving, toe tapping. "Why me? Why here?" why now, she thought. I don't want him – you – here! What will the neighbors think? Oooohhh….not again. I can't do this again. Lord, I ask, what have I done to anger you so? It must amuse you greatly…oh, I just bet you're laughing, your belly full of jelly jiggling and….nonononono, that's Santa Claus…oh dear, I'm delusional. I need to lie down with a cool cloth soaked in lavender…..

Sam's voice snapped her back to reality. "He, uh, shouldn't be alone…and…"

"All the more reason to keep him with you."

"He's….he's in some pain."

"That's nothing new." Maggie rolled her eyes. "Give him some of those special pills you have in your bag and be on your way."

"So….he, uh….well….the doctor said to get some rest." okay, so no, Murtha wasn't a doctor, but she had recommended Sam not travel far with Dean in his present condition. Of course, Sam had ignored her advice and now…well….

"And?" she pressed.

"And what?" Sam asked bewildered. "Kansas is home and…."

"Where are you coming from?" Maggie interrupted. She should call Jody, the police, the FBI, whatever agency dealt with hardened criminals with green eyes and freckles. And really, what grown man, clearly in his 30's still had freckles? It wasn't fair.

"Uh….what? Why?" Sam stammered, catching himself before blurting out they'd come from the shores of Lake Michigan. Wouldn't that just go over well. South Dakota was out of their way if they were headed to Kansas.

"Fine. Give it here." Maggie extended her hand, palm up and waggled her fingers. "Come on, don't have all day. Give it and get gone."

"Aah, give you what?" Sam asked. Man, was his head ever beginning to hurt. There was a steady thumping behind his right eye and his right ear was ringing. Oh-oh.

"The hospital file."

"What hospital file?" Sam repeated. When had he lost both control and track of the conversation? Oh please, don't you dare start twitching, he begged his right eye. Not now.

"When Jody had me go babysit him when he had his grade 12 concussion….."

"No such thing." Dean protested. He went ignored.

"…she gave me a file from the doctor to read…" Maggie continued with a frown in Dean's direction. "Must he always be difficult?"

"HEY!" Dean protested.

"I don't have one." Sam said quickly. "A file…..look, he's not sick and his arm isn't bad. The…uh….doctor said…she….well…..he should rest. There's a …..side effect…..a complication…a reaction to the pain meds she gave him….." Maggie snorted, waving that absurd comment away. "What?"

"Him?" she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Dean. "React to pain meds? Haha."

Sam's eyes widened.

"So, try again." Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. "Give me one good reason I should let you leave him here?"

"His ability to judge distance is compromised." Sam began only to have a palm block his vision. Oh, did she just 'palm' his face for silence?!

"In English."

Sam's jaw snapped closed.

"Well?" Maggie demanded. "You don't expect me to stand here all day, do you?"

"He can't judge distance." Sam explained like that explained everything. It didn't. His right eye quivered and he silently commanded it to stop. It didn't.

"Say what?"

"See, he can't drive and…" now he was beginning to feel impatient.

"Uh-huh." Maggie harrumphed. "He doesn't have to. He has you."

"He's not a good passenger."

One eyebrow went up and she waited for more.

"He….can't….you see, he can't see between the lines. I mean, he knows there are three on the road and he should be between two, but what he thinks is the middle, isn't."

"You said he wasn't driving." Maggie argued.

"Right, yeah, I know." Sam rubbed at the back of his head, a motion most common in young children thinking of excuses to placate their parent. "But he keeps yelling at me….."

"I don't yell." Dean tossed in.

"….that I'm not on the road or between the right lines or am too close to the car in the other lane."

"So, put him in the backseat." Maggie suggested simply.

Oh, Sam thought, if only handling Dean were that simple. "See, he had a mug and went..…."

"I thought we were driving." Maggie frowned.

"No….we are….were….we stopped to eat and he had a mug of coffee and went to set it down on the table…"

"Not in my living room." she announced. "He's not allowed near my coffee table ever again. I'll gate him in the kitchen!"

Not the worst room in the house to be locked in. "Gate me?" Dean was comfortably drowsy.

"He thought he was sitting the mug safely on the surface but was nowhere near it." he watched her closely but her face remained blank with lack of understanding. "When he tried again, he set it on the plate of eggs." he waited, but nope, Maggie was still out wandering. "…like, I dunno." Sam sighed impatiently. "Like, a chopper flies over and you look up at the sky and the sun's bright and you lose your balance."

"Who does that?"

"What?"

"Does that." Maggie pointed up at the ceiling.

"Does what?"

"Looks at the sky because a helicopter flies by?"

"We do."

"We?"

"Men."

"Why?"

"Because it's what men do."

"But you're a grown man."

"So?"

"So you've seen them before."

"…anyway…." Sam frowned in annoyance. "It….it's like when you park your car and you think…feel….see that you parked perfectly straight but then you get out and see that you parked between the lines crooked. So you get back in the car and try again but the car seems crooked to you but you get out and it's straight."

Maggie stared at him. Just stared. And stared some more. "Eh?"

"Sam…..just take me home." Dean said tiredly, head back against the lacey towel on the back of the chair. "I don't even know why we're here."

Sam fumed. How could he explain to Dean why they were at Maggie's when he didn't even really know why himself? Yes, part of the reason was payback for Dean behaving stupid, but mostly…it was because Sam couldn't bring himself to leave Dean home alone while sick or hurt or upset or recovering from some other world illness or spell or curse or…..

"You're tired and you need….." Sam began in way of explanation, but Dean raised a hand and waved him off.

"You're leaving me here as payback." Dean interrupted. "Right? Ain't stupid Sam."

"What? No. Home is….and motels…well, Cas is the other way and….."

"Dear Lord." Maggie stomped a foot. Not enough tea or cookies or valium in town; the county; the state. "Huh." she stood, hands on her hips, tapping her toes on her bare foot. Wait…..those were her toes! Now, when had that happened? Where was her slipper? She looked around the room. Nope, she didn't see it anywhere. Where had it gone?

"Uh, Maggie…." Sam began but her hand went up, palm out and he bit his tongue. He was getting quite tired of that. "Little help here Dean, be nice." he whispered as Maggie, now on her hands and knees, crawled between the sofa and coffee table. She went head and shoulders under an end table then backed out and with her chest to the floor and her rear in the air, rubbed her cheek against the carpet to look under the sofa. "What is she doing?" he hissed at Dean.

"Looking for her slipper." Dean murmured. Now that he was in the comfort of a house with the lure of a bed a door away, he was eager to seek its depths. "She's an unnatural attachment to them."

Maggie was soon distracted in her search of her wayward slipper by the upended bowl of cookies and the mess of crushed crumbs it had left on her carpet. "Oh now see here…that's just great." blam! – the bowl smacked the coffee table. "Perfectly good cookies." plink, plank, plunk, chunks of cookies spattered into the bowl, fell short and over shot and scattered across the glass tabletop. "Gone to waste."

"Uh, Maggie….."

"Tea gone cold." her head popped up, disappeared, more cookie crumbs hit the table, skittered across the glass top and went off the other side back to the floor. "Only one store in town sells those cookies too. Hate that store."

"Uh Maggie…."

A knock sounded on the door.

Cookie bits went airborne, exploding up from the floor. Sam ducked.

"Oh not now!" Maggie crawled around the coffee table, retrieved slipper in one hand making her gait uneven. A curler, still wrapped securely in a lock of hair, had slid down to bounce about her forehead. Her glasses had slipped to the edge of her nose and her bathrobe had come unbelted, but she had her slipper! "Now see what you did." she fumed.

Sam gaped...what had he done?

"Door." Dean said helpfully.

"I know it's the door!" Maggie snapped. By placing both palms on the coffee table, she heaved off her knees and gained her feet. "I'm not so addled I don't recognize a knock on my front door."

"Uh Maggie….."

"Get the vacuum." she ordered Sam. "One sly smirk out of you and I will send you home with her." she told Dean, smacking his knee with her slipper for emphasis. "I doubt changing my name and moving with no forwarding address would do any good. You'd find me." she was muttering to herself as she hopped about on one foot while trying to put the wayward slipper on her other foot while holding the lose curler off her forehead. "Good God, what's that?" she gave up on the slipper, left it half on and shuffled over to a mirror. "Dear Heavens!" her hands flew to her head to set her hair to rights. "Don't just stand there Sam, let her in."

"Who?" Sam asked, dumbstruck. There was no window in the door and the curtains on the windows on either side were closed. How did Maggie know who was at the door?

"Mad Myrtle." Dean said. He rolled his head on the chair, sighed, then stood up and headed for the spare bedroom.

Sam stared. He looked at Maggie, expecting her to….well, do something. Tell him where the vacuum was, stop Dean, answer the door….but nope, she had a curler in her mouth and was finger combing the loose lock of hair. Not knowing where to find the vacuum and loathe to snoop through closets and doors until he found it, he turned to answer the third knock on the door.

"Yoo-hoo Maggie! You have company?" Sam was blinded by the bright blue and fluorescent lime green burst of light that flooded his vision. "Maggie? Are you indisposed?" she stared right past Sam, earrings taking flight and causing him to take a step back. She side and two-stepped as she tried to get around him and enter the house.

Sam blindly spun his head around, looking for help, for back-up, for support, but Dean had left the room and Maggie was nowhere to be seen. He gulped, overwhelmed by…..by….a scent of….of…..flowers and wild weed that grew alongside riverbanks. Ow, he'd wrenched his neck. Dammit. And his head still hurt. And his back. And was this day ever going to end?

"I saw the car." Myrtle was saying. "Where is he? Is he here? Dean! Hhhheelllloooooo! Tallyho, my fine, bonny lad…" then she stopped trying to get around Sam and her palms smacked her cheeks and her mouth formed an "O" between them. "And hello there." she drawled silkily. "Oh, I remember you! You arrived in that big old truck." she licked her lips and rubbed her palms together. "Are you boys here for a visit? Is Dean with you?"

"Go home Myrtle." yelled Maggie from the depths of some other room. "Don't you be bothering those boys."

"So, you're both here." Myrtle's eyes gleamed. "Well now, you'll just have to come stay with me at my house. Maggie doesn't have room for both of you." as she spoke, she reached for Sam and hooked her arm around his elbow.

Aah…..she did before, Sam thought.

"….she hasn't put her house to rights." Myrtle was saying, Sam's hand held between her own. When had that happened? He tugged but she didn't let go. "Jody and the girls just left and that daybed in her den…why, that's way too small for you."

"He fits on it just fine." yelled Maggie. Myrtle ignored her.

"Pay her no mind." Myrtle patted Sam's hand. "I have a hearty beef stew on the stove, homemade biscuits…."

"I'm just dropping Dean off." Sam finally made his tongue obey his commands to work. "I have an…."

"Bully." Maggie finally appeared, dressed in a simple smock, curlers still in her hair, both slippers on her feet. "You aren't going anywhere. And for Pete's sake, shut the damn door!" she ordered exasperated. "I will make you an appointment with Dr. Nelson."

Myrtle shut the door with her foot, unwilling to relinquish her hold on Sam.

"I have…..see, Cas…well…" Sam floundered helplessly. "He's a specialist and….."

"Bah." Maggie waved him off. "You're upright and walking, whatever ails you Dr. Nelson can prescribe a pill or an ointment and make you right. Myrtle, what brings you over, as if I don't know."

"I saw the car." Myrtle said simply. "Dean is back for a visit."

"Mmmmm." Maggie sniffed. "Guess he is."

"Where is he?" Myrtle looked all around the room, bent over to peer under the coffee table. "I'll have them both over for dinner."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. What the fuck was she looking for under a coffee table with a glass top!?

"You will not." Maggie stated. "They will eat whatever I throw together and put on the table. Now go home Myrtle."

"Now Maggie, you know you don't cook. What will you serve? Shake-n-bake chicken?" Myrtle tsk-tsk'd. "They are growing boys, they need sustenance. Now, I'd better say howdy-ho to Dean! Don't want him thinking I'm rude."

"I put him to bed." Maggie shooed Myrtle towards the door. She didn't move. "Be gone with you, they just got in. Let them settle down a bit." she tugged Myrtle hands from Sam's arm. "Here now, let the boy go Myrtle."

"Tea and scones tomorrow then?" Myrtle suggested slyly. More an order than suggestion. "Say, 11 o'clock?"

"Yes, yes." Maggie would agree to anything to get Myrtle out the door. "Noon." she had no idea what she just agreed to but it worked, Myrtle opened the door, and with a wink and a wave at Sam, was gone. "Good Lord." Maggie had the cordless phone in her hand. "Now, Dr. Nelson's number is programmed in….who needs the doctor again? You or Dean? No…no….not Dean, you have a file from his doctor I'm still waiting for you to give me. So?" she nailed him to the wall with a glare. "Well? Just don't stand there…tell me what your problem is so I can call and make you an appointment."

"I….aaah…..don't…..I mean, see….I'm….."

"Nuh-huh." she shook her head, all curlers restored to their tight and right position. "I raised five of you and their father….you won't get away with that with me." her eyes rested on the bowl of cookie crumbs. "Oye-vay!" her palm smacked her forehead. "And of course, Myrtle had to see that mess." she'd punched a button and was now speaking into the phone. "Hello Marion, Maggie Mills, I need to make an appointment….oh, nonono, not me. I'm fine, thank you. My daughter-in-law's brothers are back in town and Sam...yes, those brothers. Now, Sam needs…" she quirked an eyebrow at Sam and waited.

"My back." Sam sighed in defeat. Maggie beamed.

"Right, yes….thank you Marion, he'll see you then. Yes, the bake sale Sunday, yup…..brownies…I have squash….oh, that sounds good. Myrtle will do pumpkin, count on it. See you then." she hung up. "Tomorrow at 1:30. You can go have tea with Myrtle then take yourself off to the doctors. I'll give you directions."

She opened a door and removed a vacuum. "Here, you run the sweeper and I'll put fresh sheets on the day bed." she paused. "You can stay with Myrtle if you prefer. She has a queen bed in her guest room."

"Aah, no. No, I'll stay here." and figure out a way to leave and meet Cas. Maggie meant well but there was nothing her doctor could do to make him feel better. But right now, his headache threatened to become a full-blown migraine. Hell, he hadn't had one of those in a long time. Why now? "Maggie, do you have any Excedrin?"

"Aspirin? Sure…wait, no….not….oh, that's Tylenol….blast I can't remember." she huffed. "One of you doesn't take something but I don't remember what. Here, I'll show you the medicine chest, you take what you want."

Dean got to sleep all day. Sam, headache held at bay by the Excedrin migraine aspirin he'd found in Maggie's medicine chest, did chores all day. He didn't mind, he was quite fond of Maggie and he and Dean had put her through several stressful incidents that she had handled with admirable aplomb.

"Well." Maggie set a plate of scones and a jar of jelly on the kitchen table, sat down and poured two mugs of coffee. "Cream?"

Sam nodded and picked up the jar of jelly, screwed off the lid and took a whiff. "Apple?"

"I have grape, strawberry or raspberry." she started to get up but Sam waved her back to her seat. "Homemade, Myrtle's best." she added sugar to her coffee and pushed the bowl over to Sam. "Dean okay"

"Think so." Sam stirred cream and sugar into his coffee then spread apple jelly on two scones. "Will be."

"Mmmm." Maggie bit into her scone. "Law official, eh?" she stirred her coffee for no reason other than to have something to do. "I've never asked. I've never pried. Jody loves and trusts the two of you and that is enough for me to allow you into my life and be welcome in my home." she sipped and added more sugar. "Have you no wife? Kids?"

Sam was silent. Jody hadn't shared anything with Maggie regarding the life of hunting and if she hadn't, that meant she didn't want Maggie to know and he would honor that.

"Our mom died when I was a baby." Sam said quietly. "I don't remember her. Dean was four, he has some memories, but not many. We were raised by our dad on the road. He was a bounty hunter."

"Was?"

"He died several years ago." Sam admitted.

"I see." she chewed and swallowed the last bite of her scone and spread jelly on another. "And he was killed?"

Sam hesitated, unsure how to continue. Best to let Maggie draw her own conclusions.

"And your mother?"

"Dad spent his life trying to find who was responsible for her death." Sam said elusively. It was the truth. Sorta. "If someone needed help and he was there, he didn't say no."

"And now you and your brother do the same? Did your father find the culprit?"

"He did." Sam confirmed. "Dean, he huh…..well."

"Are you bounty hunters?" Maggie asked, pouring Sam more coffee. "Jody said you're both law officials. Bounty hunters aren't really official, are they? Maybe they are, in some capacity. Anyway, you live on the road then, chasing…..who?"

"He – the, uh man responsible – he didn't work alone." Sam said. "He….they…..I dunno, a gang? A syndicate? A cell? A network? Dean and I hunt them down, bring them to justice." he spread his hands. "Like Jody, we sometimes become…..friendly, close with local law."

Maggie licked the knife and tossed it into the sink. "Well then, thank you." she raised her mug and waited for Sam to clink his against hers. "For keeping the world safe."

If only you knew Maggie. If only you knew.

"So." Maggie got up and bustled around. Closing the container of scones after Sam refused more, capping the jar of jelly and replacing the lid on the sugar bowl. "What ails Dean this time?"

"He's okay." Sam smiled softly. "He…..hurt his arm….not stabbed, more like he…..well, a chemical dumped on his arm and it burned the skin a bit. Didn't affect tissue or muscle, but it was painful and the doctor, um, she, had to well, basically scalp it off."

"I don't see." Maggie said frankly. "Scalp? No hospital report?"

"No, not this time."

"Does he need anything special?"

"No, just keep the bandage clean and dry. There isn't much bleeding, but it does ooze puss and….."

"Enough." Maggie cut him off. "Bad reaction, you say?"

"You'll see."

"I will, but you will be here to take care of him." Maggie told him sternly. "I don't know what compromised judgement means and I don't intend to find out all by myself."

"Yes ma'am." Sam said meekly.

"You look haggard. Still have a headache?" the table was clean, the few dishes in the dishwasher. "Go rest for a bit, I'll keep an eye on Dean."

Sam slept all day. Got up for a late dinner he shared with Dean of shake-n-bake chicken and mashed potatoes then watched some old TV show called Monk with Maggie and Dean before going to bed at 10. He was that tired.

He didn't sleep well, the daybed too short, too narrow and right up against the wall. His head promised to explode if there was too much light or noise or smell so he babied it, keeping the room dark and quiet and praying Maggie wouldn't take it into her head to bang about pots and pans while making fish or seafood for breakfast.

Perhaps it was the long day, doing all the driving, the worry over Dean, the delay in reaching Cas, the meds he took for his back, the mixture of those meds with Excedrin migraine aspirin or the brief discussion about his dad. Whatever it was, he either dreamed or remembered the few times their father had given him his way.


	2. Chapter 2

Happy Thanksgiving y'all!

* * *

 _***000***_

 _John sat at the kitchen table, five empty cans from his case of eighteen Stroh's scattered across its surface. He was tired, exhausted was more like it, yet the thought of going to bed, lying down and turning out the light made his chest squeeze and his breath too hard to catch._

 _What a fucking week it had been. Christ, was life always going to be this hard? This difficult? Would this gut-wrenching despair and guilt ever go away? Or at least ease? Would he ever catch a break? Okay, yes, he had two wonderful, smart, healthy sons but boy…..the life he gave them….was forced to…..there was no other way, made a man drink. One son destined to destroy the world, the other destined to destroy his brother in order to save it. What the fuck had he ever done to deserve this? What had his boys done?_

 _And oh, what a pair. Sammy, obstinate, stubborn, argumentative….cared little about a lot, cared a lot about little…..generous heart, his Sammy….giving, compassionate, sharing, caring…..unless you threatened the one thing Sammy loved most in his world. And no, it wasn't his father. Nope. Oh hell no. It was Dean. His big brother. Endanger Dean and you put your life at risk._

 _Dean….loyal to a fault. Dedicated, devoted, consistent, dependable. Took his duties and job and instructions to heart. Give that kid an order and woe to whoever stood in his way of seeing it completed. Ever since their mother had died and John had told Dean to look out for Sammy, Dean had put that first and foremost in his life. Somewhat of a violent streak though, enjoyed the hunt and a kill a bit to much...sometimes._

 _John popped the tab on his 6th beer. He had places to go, things to kill, items to find, people to talk to, lore to learn, friends to make, people to piss off…..and what was he doing? Sitting in some shitty motel room, drinking beer, afraid to go to sleep in case when he woke up, only one son still breathed. Dean. Dean hadn't been able to make his eyes focus and no matter how many times he'd insisted he was fine, John simply didn't believe it. Sure, kids puked for all kinds of reasons, but not Dean. And now John couldn't bring himself to leave the boys alone or with a maid as a sitter. Bobby and Jim were too far away…and Lord though he'd tried, Dean hadn't been able to keep his discomfort to himself riding in the car._

 _So wah-lah, here he sat, cursing himself a fool for endangering Dean in the first place, praying to a Lord he didn't always believe in his boy would be ok. That it was only a mild concussion and not a skull fracture or cranial hematoma or a brain hemorrhage…_

 _"Dad." Sam's voice was clear and strong. Kid should be in bed and asleep but nope, he was wide awake and alert. "Can you drive? Dean needs a doctor."_

 _John swallowed, the awful taste in his mouth was not from too much shitty beer. No, it was the taste of sorrow, of regret, of remorse. Sam planted his feet and fisted his hands at his sides, prepared to do verbal battle to get his way and get his brother the help Sam was convinced he needed. If John wouldn't come around, Sam would just call 911._

 _"Get dressed." John ordered his youngest, geared for a battle but Sam was staring at him slack-jawed. "You're too old to go to the hospital in your pajamas."_

 _That's right, Sammy, my boy. There are indeed times when my sons come first._

 _***000***_

 _"Dad?"_

 _"What Sam?" John belatedly realized that was like the 6th or 7th time Sam had called him. He looked up from the book on the table in front of him and with a stiff degree of shock, realized dawn had appeared at some time or another._

 _"Is Dean on his way back?"_

 _"No." John returned his attention to the book then frowned. "Why aren't you dressed for school?"_

 _Sam hesitated. "I don't feel good."_

 _John's frowned deepened. Neither of his sons ever complained. This was odd. Sam was what, now? 12? 13? Must be…at least…..Dean was legally driving…_

 _"Take some pepto." John waved his hand in the direction of the mini-fridge. "Some aspirin. Adult." he paused. Was Sam at an age to be taking adult medication? Then again, had John ever bothered with age-appropriate meds?_

 _"My stomach doesn't hurt." Sam patiently explained. "I'm hot but I can't stop shivering."_

 _"Head hurt?" John had already read another paragraph._

 _"Throat does." Sam said. "Can I stay home from school today?"_

 _John bit his lip, exasperated and annoyed with the interruption, but dammit, there stood his kid, still wearing matching pajamas…at what age did kids stop wearing pajamas?...looking all pale and sweaty and flushed and…..ill._

 _"Want some oatmeal?" John offered lamely. "Maybe some juice?"_

 _"No juice, sir." Sam replied. "Oatmeal sounds good."_

 _Think John, think. You know this. Sammy loves oatmeal…with….with….._

 _"With warm milk and cinnamon sugar?" John offered, closing the book and pushing it aside. Was that Sam's favorite? Or Dean's? Or his own? Wait, Dean didn't like oatmeal. Did he? John was rewarded with a weak grin and damn, that made him feel good. He patted himself on the back for getting something right this dismal day._

 _Sam nodded, then hesitated, afraid to push his luck._

 _"What?" John asked, already on his feet and moving to turn on the electric hot plate._

 _"Maybe some…..hot chocolate?" Sam ventured shyly._

 _John checked the fridge. "I think there's enough milk for both." he reached for a pan. "Go on back to bed, I'll bring it back when it's ready."_

 _Sam nodded. "Thanks Dad."_

 _Thank God for instant food, John thought; instant oatmeal, instant hot chocolate, instant coffee, just add water macaroni and cheese. He was no cook, and yeah, he fed his kids cereal for many meals and just about everything else came instant and frozen, but he'd be damned if he ever gave them anything other than whole milk. No powered milk in his house. Not ever._

 _While the hot plate was heating and waiting for it to turn orange, John got the yellow pages out of the drawer and looked up the number for the middle-school Sam was attending. He made the call while searching for the cinnamon-sugar bottle._

 _"Yes, is the office? Okay, good. I'm calling to report Sam Winchester won't be in school today."_

 _"Thank you for calling Dean." was the response he received from a cheery secretary. "Hope it's not the flu. It is going around, and Sam didn't feel good yesterday."_

 _"This is his father." John ground out._

 _"Oh." there was silence on the other end. "I see…..um, well, okay then, yes." she cleared her throat. "We look forward to seeing Sam back in school soon."_

 _John hung up with a muttered curse and added milk to a pan that he then set on the hot plate. The milk didn't take long to heat and John poured it to a mug with Swiss Miss mix, added some marshmallows and made the best damn bowl of instant oatmeal a dad could make._

 _Sam sat cross-legged in bed to eat and despite not feeling or looking good, ate it all. John held the blankets up after clearing the dishes away and Sam slid his legs under them and laid down, letting John tuck him in._

 _"Are you going out?" Sam asked._

 _It was on the tip of John's tongue to say yes, to remind Sam John had appointments with other hunters in the area but the kid looked so damn pitiful John found his head moving side-to-side._

 _"I've got a lot of reading to do." John said. "You get some sleep and if you don't feel better when you wake up, I'll call that health center and see if appointments are needed."_

 _"Okay."_

 _***000***_

 _Why did they always end up staying put in rainy or cold or snow covered towns during winter? Why not Florida or Texas, Sam griped as he let himself into the rented-by-week apartment, thoughts on avoiding his dad and heading straight for a hot shower. He slung his bag off his shoulder and let it hit the floor in a wet thump by the door. He went into the kitchen and set the bag of take-out for 2 on the table. Dean was probably asleep and their dad was probably passed out but even if John were awake, Sam didn't intend on seeing him comforted with a hot meal of chicken noodle soup, biscuits and gravy and chicken pot pie. Sam would eat whatever Dean didn't opt for._

 _Wet, cold and eager for a hot shower, Sam headed for the room he shared with Dean to divest himself of his soaked clothes. He didn't hesitate to turn a light on, a mere bright light would not wake Dean from slumber. In the process of toe-ing off his shoes, he paused as he stared at two empty beds. He swiveled, eyes darting to the corner where Dean's green duffle bag full of weapons should be…..and then he was charging out of the room, head of wet hair slinging water everywhere._

 _"Where is he?" Sam threw the door to his father's bedroom open, letting it bounce off the wall. Who cared if the door knob punched a hole in the wall?_

 _John was awake, sitting at the small table that served as a desk, reading a huge, ancient book and jotting notes on a paper pad. He neither jumped nor looked up when his youngest hothead barged in._

 _"You're late." John replied._

 _"Yeah? You gonna do something about it?" Sam sneered. "Where is he?"_

 _"On a hunt."_

 _"Wow Dad, you suck."_

 _It wasn't the words that gave John pause, it was the sneer in the tone._

 _"Come again?" John looked up, putting the pen down and sitting back in the chair._

 _"He was bruised and bloody and barely able to bend over and you sent him on a hunt?" Sam had well worked himself into quite the rage. "He was in no condition to go anywhere! Jesus Christ Dad! What the hell's the matter with you?"_

 _"Got a promising lead on the yellow-eyed demon…."_

 _"I don't give a shit about your vendetta or your revenge!" Sam yelled…..bellowed. "How could you?" and why the hell had Dean agreed to go? But Sam wasn't going to even address that….not even mentally. Nope. This was all John's fault. "Why the hell didn't you go?"_

 _"Dean's an adult Sam, he's 18…" John began reasonably, but Sam was having not it. Oh, no. Not at all._

 _"I don't care! He was pissing blood and you sent him on a hunt? For what? A lead that's going to go nowhere?" Sam fisted his hands but kept them at his sides. "Either drive me to go get him or I'll jack a car!"_

 _"You'll do no such thing."_

 _"Who has his back? Huh? We don't know what he found on that hunt! We haven't heard from him! It's not a ghost or goblin he can fight with salt and iron! And what about Mother Nature, Dad? She's pissed off. You know the weather forecast. What if this storm comes? He shouldn't be out of bed, let alone outside in this fucking weather?!What if he's caught in it? Tornado warnings? With someone I don't know at his back? You might not care about him or what happens to him but no one, NO ONE will ever be able to say that about me! I care…..and I want him back. I want him here, safe and sound, with me."_

 _"He's with Jack, Sam, he'll be fine."_

 _"He wasn't even fine when he left here!" Sam yelled. "And I don't know JACK!"_

 _"That's enough!" John finally yelled back, getting to his feet. He'd had quite enough of this temper tantrum. "I am not driving three hours in this weather. Dean is fine. Now let it go!"_

 _"No." Sam stared his father down. "I don't know what game you're playing or what you're trying to prove or find out by sending Dean on a hunt with a guy neither of us know, but I'm not going to just sit here while you risk his life."_

 _Oh, how well John knew Sam's 'us', didn't include him. "I know Jack, Sam." he spoke evenly, anger flaring in his eyes, oh, he did not like being questioned. Especially when there were no answers he could ever give Sam. How did you tell your son you were preparing his brother for the day that could come where Dean would have to kill him? John wanted to argue and continue this fight, but Sam was right, though John would never admit it. "I know Jack and I trust him. That should be good enough for you."_

 _"It's not. It's not enough. Your trust in someone I don't know will never be enough when it's Dean life you put at risk." Sam was still yelling. "Dean is reckless, you know that. He won't stop because the weather is bad if people are in danger." Sam paced around the table, John stood his ground, but he felt like he was being stalked._

 _But Sam was done yelling, done with his father. He cleared the counter of his gun and knife and wallet. He shoved everything he'd gathered into his wet bag by the door and grabbed an apple. He wanted a hot shower, warm clothes, comfort of home and that meal sitting right there on the table, but what he wanted more than anything else, was Dean back. His brother came first. Always had, always would._

 _"What are you doing?" John asked warily, too emotionally spent to continue raging at Sam._

 _"I'm going to Tulsa. By car, bus or thumb…..I'm going."_

 _"Gimme ten." John sighed in defeat._

 _***000***_

 _John paced, shotgun in one hand, bottle of holy water, canister of salt, and iron wrench all fighting for balance in his other, silver knife between his teeth. He used his nose to push aside the curtain and peer out into the darkness. Of course, he could see nothing. Power was out. Phone lines were down. All over town._

 _They were lucky no trees were in the vicinity of the motel. They were lucky the motel still had a roof. They were lucky they were safe and sound and warm and dry and supplied with blankets and food. There were lucky John's talent as a mechanic was able to keep the cranky generator out back supplying electric to one outlet in the kitchenette. And there, their luck ran out: they were missing Dean._

 _Sam had been out looking. John had been out. Both had returned to the motel with no information – no Dean. Both had gone out again. This storm was unlike any John had ever seen. Dean had called from the garage to say he was swinging by the chicken joint for dinner and would soon be home. Then the storm had hit. That had been three hours ago. No Dean._

 _John felt sick, swallowed bile. Fear, anger and grief warred for dominance. If that little punk had found some bimbo…but, what if he'd been jumped? What could have gotten him? A tree? A car? Where was he? What if he was in a ditch? Buried in mud? What if he were hurt, broken, kidnapped, dead?_

 _How would he tell Sam? Bobby? How would he live with himself? What would he do?_

 _The door knob rattled._

 _Sam leapt for the door, calling Dean's name. John pushed him back. He looked out the window again but still couldn't see a damn thing._

 _Knocknocknocknocknock._

 _The hell? What the hell was that? Panic flared, threatened to choke him…..not now, not tonight. His eldest kid was not home….on a night like no other….if someone or something chose now to come after John Winchester…they'd be met with fury never seen or experienced before on this good earth…..he was a parent with a kid gone missing, a parent with a nearly hysterical kid quivering in the corner trying to be brave, a parent whose only reason to keep living in this fucked up world – and few knew how fucked up it really was – was two kids, that if he died, would be raised by that asshole Bobby Singer…._

 _Knocknocknocknocknock._

 _He checked the window…..sills were salted._

 _Knocknocknocknock_

 _Someone was knocking on the door! John set the bottle and canister and wrench on a table, slowly slid the chain off the lock and swung the door open. Before he would raise the shotgun – and he was damn quick about it too – Dean collapsed in his arms._

 _"DEAN!"_

 _That came from Sam._

 _John let the rain hit him in the face as he dropped the shotgun and took Dean in both arms as they both went to the floor. A wet, fully clothed and loaded Dean was no light weight. He turned his head and spit the knife out, talking softly to his seemingly unconscious burden._

 _He didn't care it was raining with sleet or hail or ice or freezing rain or whatever. He didn't care how cold it was. He didn't care the wind whipped and howled. He didn't care leaves and twigs and various bits of trash swirled in his face. He didn't care the door banged his hip from the wind. He didn't care how wet he was getting._

 _Dean was here. And alive. He could be held and hugged and his heart could be felt beating. That's what John cared about. That was all that mattered._

 _But not to Sam. No, not Sam. Never to Sam. Sam would never sit by and do nothing while his brother was cold, wet...possibly injured._

 _Sam was a whirl of towels and blankets and before John knew it, he and Dean were in the room, and the door was closed. Dean was sitting up on his own, a towel over his head, letting Sam get him out of his wet coat, then his boots, then his shirt and wrapped in a blanket._

 _John had no idea how Sam worked so efficiently. He shot glares of gloom and death at John as he tended Dean, briskly toweling his hair with the towel with he spoke words that only Dean understood. Sam barked orders, issued commands and was heating water while debating bath versus shower. He handed both Dean and John mugs of hot coffee. And all the while John sat and stared at nothing. Wanted to reach out and touch Dean's cheek and feel for a pulse. But he didn't. He was afraid he'd pull back a stump. Sam was that pissed._

 _He got to his feet and went to get more coffee. He desperately wanted to add booze to it but Sam would have a fit and John was in no mood for a lecture, so he just sat at the table and sipped it hot and black._

 _He could help. He should help. But Sam didn't want his help._

 _"Get us hot water." Sam ordered._

 _With no electric, how did Sam expect John to produce a working hot water tank? Whatever had happened, Sam clearly blamed him. Well fine, he had a lot of faults, but dammit, even in a storm like this, he had always provided his boys with adequate shelter._

 _"There won't be a next time I say the weather is bad and you should go pick him up and give him a ride home from wherever." Sam's voice was filled with venom. John had never heard that tone from his youngest before and it made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up before sending shivers down his back. Sam was growing up and John didn't think he liked it. "I'll just take the car and go get him myself."_

 _John fucked it, pulled a flask from a pocket of some shirt or another and added it to his coffee. He never got to taste it, the mug was slapped from his hand and smashed to the floor._

 _"You're going to help me get him into a hot bath then bed before you drink yourself stupid."_

 _John stared at the mess on the floor, pushed back from the table and rose to his feet. Sam planted his feet and met his dad with attitude. At 14, he was no physical match of his father but damn, he stood his ground and prepared to fight for his brother._

 _John shook his wet hair out of his eyes and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing it gently. John was wet and cold but Dean's comfort and well-being came first._

 _"Gimme thirty." John said quietly. He'd heat water on the stove, it was natural gas, but it would take a while. Maybe the generator was powerful enough to power the hot water tank._

 _***000***_

 _"I don't care what every other kid is doing Dean! I said NO!" why oh why, did his fear always come out as rage and anger? "You're my kid…..not anyone else's."_

 _"It's a camping trip! How many times have we been camping? Was never an issue before!"_

 _"Our camping trips are not for fun and leisure Dean."_

 _John turned his back on Dean, gripping the dresser with both hands until his knuckles turned white. Indecision, guilt and remorse waged for dominance in his gut. Dean rarely asked for anything, never argued, never defied him. It was a stupid camping trip, chaperoned by the gym teacher and some coach or another from school. A hike up a mountainside to see some sulfur mine or some dumb thing. John wasn't entirely sure. He'd made up his mind Dean wasn't going and that was all there was to it._

 _But Dean had stood his ground and John didn't know what to make of that. There was no danger. No harm. No reason other than John's own fear that flared up every time one of his sons wanted to spend time away from him. Now, when John left his boys, well that was a completely different story. No, he didn't know why and he didn't ever intend to find out what or why that was._

 _If Dean were away from him, on a hike, in the woods, he wouldn't be able to protect his eldest against…well, weather, poison ivy, a fall, wild animals, lack of bacon….but then, he'd trained the kid since he was six years old to survive…..what would the counselor say if Dean happened to whip out his .35? Good God…..the police would be at their door…..Dean was 17, little to worry about there, but Sam was only 13….the last thing John needed was social services showing up at his door._

 _He cursed, striking the top of the dresser with a fist, causing the contents on top to rattle and jump. Dean hadn't had much of a childhood, nothing had even remotely resembled normal…..he never asked for anything….he was growing up, would soon be a man….John wasn't angry, he was scared…._

 _"You'll be back Thursday?" he managed to rasp. "Won't do anything stupid?"_

 _"You need to sign this."_

 _John snatched the permission slip from Dean's hand and scrawled his name across it then threw it back at him. Dean wisely said nothing, took the paper and left the room. John headed for the kitchen, coming to an abrupt stop when he saw Sam, damn hair hanging in his eyes, casually lounging in the doorway from the hall that led to the bedrooms. His arms were crossed over his chest and he simply stared his father down._

 _"I like to camp." Sam said finally. He'd heard the entire argument, had first cheered on his brother, then his father. Took one side, then the other. He'd wanted Dean to go, then he didn't. Then he hadn't known what to think. "We should go. You and me." he added before his Dad could argue that, no, Sam did not like to camp. "I mean, do you have anything better to do then follow, I mean, hike up the mountain to see the famed mine sulfur pit? I don't."_

 _John couldn't help it. He laughed, pulling Sam in for a hug._

 _***000***_

 _"Another." John waved at the empty shot glass in front of him._

 _Ellen shook her head and set a glass of water on the bar._

 _"Hit me." John growled._

 _"No." she replied, setting a bowl of pretzels and another of peanuts next to the glass of water. "Not in my bar."_

 _John spat a curse at her, stood up on the rungs on his stool and leaned across the bar for the bottle of Jack. Ellen snapped his hand with her towel and grabbed the bottle just below his hand. A struggle ensued, but Ellen was confident John would be neither aggressive nor violent towards a woman and he proved her right._

 _"Ain't driving." John sulked, sitting back down on his stool less the bottle. "I'm taking you up of an offer of a bed in the back, you don't mind."_

 _"What ails you?" she asked, pouring a splash of Jack into his shot glass and adding a bit of water. If John weren't driving, he could drink himself stupid for all she cared._

 _"Puberty."_

 _"Dean?" she responded, stopping to think. She'd never met John's sons. Few hunters had and fewer in their community knew of their existence, and what she knew, she kept to herself. No, Dean was close to Joanna Beth's age…..a year or so older, if her math and memory served her correct._

 _"Sam." John said morosely. "He shudda been a girl."_

 _Ellen poured him another shot. "How so?"_

 _"He ain't nothing like Dean." John complained. "All feelings and emotions. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"_

 _Ellen wiped the clean bar with a smirk. Only John Winchester would drink himself beyond a stupor because he had a compassionate, kind kid._

 _***000***_

 _"Hey John, Travis here."_

 _"Travis, what's up?" he juggled the phone onto his shoulder, continuing to clean his shot gun with both hands. "Been a bit, thought you were down South, doin' voodoo."_

 _"Came up to Nebraska with Martin, called up Bobby, thinkin' he'd be able to give us a hand but he's busy with something else."_

 _"He is, huh?" John squirted oil, using a rag to control its dripping. "Keeps himself busy."_

 _"Said he got something more important on his plate, wouldn't say what though." Travis continued. "He said maybe you'd be free for a run."_

 _"Sure, what you got?" John felt a brief rush of warmth. He had few friends he trusted, fewer yet he trusted with his boys – two in fact. Maybe three. And Bobby Singer was one such guy and damn, it felt good to know Bobby had turned down a hunter's request for help because he was babysitting Sam and Dean. Though if Dean heard, at age 12, he was being babysat, he would sulk and pout for a month and never agree to go to Bobby's again._

 _Sure, he and Bobby had argued, nearly come to blows, but in the end, John had caved to Bobby's request – order – to leave the boys with him while John went off to chase whatever demonic lead he had. Bobby didn't interfere much when it came to John hunting with the boys. John had told him as much as the truth as he'd ever told anyone and Bobby understood the danger the boys faced. What he didn't understand or agree with, was John taking them with him when he was off chasing a lead on the yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch who had destroyed their lives._

 _This time, John had agreed to Bobby's badgering because Sammy had the measles or chicken pox or some itchy childhood ailment and the boy was miserable. What had hurt was, Sam hadn't wanted him, his dad. No, Sammy had wanted Dean and Dean had been with Bobby learning to make silver ammunition. And Bobby had made sense. His house was a stable, if cluttered and dusty, environment where Sam would have all the comforts of home._

 _John had had to argue and rant and rave, to save face and bury his hurt somehow, so yeah, he'd made a scene and made Sam cry and Dean mad, but the boys were where John wanted them and they'd never know that, so all was good. Travis and Martin didn't even know about the boys' existence, and they were decent, good men and hunters. Just went to show how little John trusted his fellow hunter. Maybe when the boys were older._

 _John hung up from his conversation with Travis and began to pack up in preparation for immediate departure. The phone rang again, and John picked it up, expecting Travis._

 _"Hey Travis, what's up? I'm ready to head…."_

 _"Hi Dad."_

 _"Sam? It's late." John said stupidly. "Why aren't you in bed? Why are you up?" no, how are you feeling, nope, straight to accusations. Way to go John, dad of the year, you're not._

 _And Sam's tone matched his when he said. "It's 7 o'clock Dad."_

 _John grabbed the phone and stretched the cord over to the window, where he parted the curtain. Hell, it was dark outside, that meant, kids could go to bed. What was an appropriate bedtime for an 8 year old anyway?_

 _"What do you want Sam?"_

 _"Will you bring me home a milkshake?"_

 _"Will I do what?"_

 _"Vanilla malt."_

 _"Sam."_

 _"Dad…..I itch." Sam whined. "All over. And Dean won't let me scratch." he sniffled. "He duct-taped oven mitts on my hands." he complained. "I can't get them off. Not even with my teeth. And he painted me in pink lotion. It's in my hair."_

 _John couldn't help it. He chuckled, and then coughed to cover his humor at the misery of his youngest. "Sam…." and just how had Sam managed to the dial a rotary phone with oven mitts taped onto his hands?_

 _"And I'm hot." Sam was saying. "Uncle Bobby doesn't even have the heat on, but I feel so hot."_

 _"Sam, I'm…at work. I won't be able to come get you for a couple of days."_

 _"I don't need you to come get me." Sam said. "I need you to bring me a milkshake when you come home."_

 _Say what? John scratched the stubble on his jaw. What the hell kind of logic was that? Kid must be feverish. "Is Dean there?"_

 _"Oh." Sam's voice was suddenly small, an instant clue something was off. "Uh, yeah. He….he's…..he's in um, bed."_

 _Now John knew something was up. Dean in bed at 7 o'clock while Sam was awake?_

 _"Where's Bobby?"_

 _Silence._

 _"Sam, where are your brother and Bobby?"_

 _"I'm not supposed to say anything." Sam said finally. "I don't want them mad at me."_

 _But you'll risk my anger, John thought impatiently. Always on Dean's side, always protecting big brother, always._

 _"No one will be mad at you." John said with a calm he didn't feel. He was going to hang Bobby Singer by the neck. But not until death. Oh, no. He'd keep a chair just under the balls of Singer's feet, let him dangle…choke, turn red then blue….see if he went purple. "Tell me Sam, where's Dean?"_

 _Lulled by the calm, coaxing tone of his father's voice, Sam replied in earnest. "He's in bed Dad." now he was eager to please his dad. "Uncle Bobby said he had to stay in bed when they got back from the hospital."_

 _John seethed. Dean had been hurt bad enough to require a hospital and Bobby hadn't called? He need a beer._

 _"Did you go with them?" John asked, glancing at his watch. He needed to be leaving soon in order to meet up with Travis. "They didn't leave you home alone, did they?"_

 _"No. Sally Sue stayed with me. She was really nice, baked me cookies and played checkers with me while we waited for them to get back. I wanted to go, but Uncle Bobby said the hospital aint't no place for a sick kid."_

 _John blinked, and that made sense…..to whom? He needed a bottle of whiskey._

 _"Sam, what happened?"_

 _"It's my fault, Uncle Bobby told me to stay out of the basement, to stay upstairs but I wanted some juice, I get thirsty a lot, and I couldn't open the cupboard to get a cup or the fridge to get the juice or open the bottle so I went downstairs…I made Dean jump, didn't mean to, it wasn't on purpose Dad, honest…..but the silver was liquid I guess or hot or something and it spilled…."_

 _Jesus Fucking Christ. His son had suffered burns from melted silver and no one had bothered to call and tell him? Where? How bad? The fuck! Son-of-a-bitch! God dammit! Bloody hell! Whore's tits!_

 _"Sam, where is Bobby?" he finally managed to say, his mental explosion finally exhausted._

 _"With Dean….I dunno why…..funny though, cause now Dean's hands are bandaged too."_

 _No, not funny. Not funny at all._

 _"They're letting me watch whatever I want on TV." now Sam sounded sad. He was feeling let out and ignored and boy, John easily understood that. "Long as I'm quiet. Maybe you can bring Dean a milkshake too when you come home."_

 _Aaah, John thought, the lightbulb going off. Dean was the one who favored milkshakes…not Sam. Sam would think of Dean first, then himself. Bobby had apparently banned him from seeing Dean and Sam didn't want to cause a scene and upset Dean who was hurt and in pain. No, Sam wasn't asking for John to come home because he wanted his dad, he was asking for John to bring home one of Dean's favorite treats when he did bother to show up because he thought it would make Dean feel better._

 _"Sam…." John tried but Sam sighed and hiccupped._

 _"No Dad, it's okay." Sam said quietly. "You go hunting. Sally Sue said she'd bring over milkshakes. She said she could make them at her house. Has malt and vanilla right in her cupboard. Says she has awesome straws. Oh, and vanilla bean ice cream."_

 _John blinked in disbelief. The nerve! His son was okay with some bimbo known only to Bobby Singer who baked cookies bringing him and his brother milkshake? Oh, hell no! Over his dead body! Sam didn't usually take to or warm up to strangers...and this Sally Sue was a stranger. Or, she'd better be! Damn that Bobby Singer!_

 _"Okay, I'll let you go Dad. Bye."_

 _He slammed the receiver into the cradle then dialed Travis as fast the rotary dial rotated._

 _"Travis, I have to bail, catch you next time." he barked as soon as the other end was picked up. Then he hung up. He was completely packed and ready to go in seconds. He had a night of driving ahead of him and time to remember where the hell he could get milkshakes in the middle of the night in Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

 _***000***_

Sam woke up so stiff and sore and cramped, he couldn't move. No, literally, his back had locked-up. Again. Oh, this was not good. Yeah, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He sure as hell wasn't driving either. Oh, and yeah, his head still hurt. Well, it was a headache…..but still. Great, just great.

Guess he'd be going to see Maggie's doctor after all.

Eh, wasn't so bad here. Maggie was no chef, but she put food on the table. He'd just have to do something about his sleeping arrangements. He and this daybed were not going to get on well. Perhaps he should attempt seeking shelter with Mad Myrtle. Queen bed. She cooked. How bad could it be?

***END***


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